Life's Not A Paragraph
by isabellasnow
Summary: As Arya fights to become No One, a man from her past returns, and together they challenge the god they vowed to serve.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This has been rattling aorund in my brain for a while. I have no idea how long it will be or what kind of plot it will follow. We'll just have to wait and see. And yes, I ship them shamelessly. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except the plot. **

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Arya, _No One_, pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. It wasn't that it was blocking her view of the busy street, for her eyes saw nothing, but the feeling of the strands sticking to her skin was altogether quite unpleasant.

"Anything to spare, ser?" She asked sweetly when she heard the tell-tale sound of heavy boots on the cobblestones and smelled the scent that accompanied most men in this part of town - sweat, ale, and whores. The man paused a moment, and then continued.

Arya sighed. She had been playing the urchin for quite sometime now, and although she could not see the disgusted looks that were sent her way, she could feel them. It was to be expected, she supposed. She wore her true face - an unusual occurrence - and she suspected that only added to her unfortunate appearance. She had not seen herself in almost a year, but she could imagine it. A pale girl with dirty hair, dirtier clothes, and the milk-white eyes of blindness. At four and ten, Arya was sure that she had changed in the past year, she could feel the changes in her body - the slight flare in her hips, small round breasts, the new definition in her face, but anything she had gained in her appearance was concealed by the breeches she wore and the mud on her face. Oh well, she thought. She had more important things to worry about. She had very little money to show for her efforts today, and the Kindly Man expected more of her. It wasn't exactly that he expected money, but she wasn't playing her part persuasively enough. Her downtrodden appearance wasn't provoking enough sympathy.

She began gathering up the few coins that had been dropped into the small bowl in front of her when one slipped through her fingers. Stupid, she scolded herself, I needed that. She listened to it roll away from her in defeat. No matter how well-attuned her other senses had become, there was no way to pinpoint where it had gotten to. As she made to rise from her seat on the ground she felt the presence of someone in front of her. It was odd because she hadn't heard them approach, but she could smell them and feel the way they blocked the dust from the street. They smelled of sweat, and sea-air, and something spicy that she couldn't place. She could feel the way they blocked the sun from hitting her face. They must be tall. A man, she concluded.

"Anything to spare, ser?" She asked, tentatively holding out her hand.

"A girl dropped this, no?" Came the stranger's reply as he dropped a coin identical to the one that she had lost into her palm. The man spoke with a smooth baritone and a strange accent that stirred something deep in her memory. Those were memories that she kept tightly guarded. The Kindly Man could always tell when she thought of her past. She was supposed to be No One.

"A man has been gone a long time," she replied, the recognition showing through her voice.

"But now he has returned. A girl should allow a man to lead her back to the House," he said as Arya felt his long-fingered hand wrap around her own.

"I can make my own way back," Arya spat bitterly, "I have been making my own way for quite some time."

"A girl means more by this than she says," he mused with what Arya thought might be an inflection of worry. That made her even angrier. How could he worry about her now, after all this time?

"I searched for you, when I came," she said, rising to her feet. "But you weren't here. Where were you?" She was ashamed at the desperation that had crept into her voice, but she couldn't help it. Hearing his voice brought back the fear of those first weeks at The House, when she searched for him tirelessly, but always came back empty handed.

"A man has many duties, lovely girl."

"I'm not a girl," Arya replied childishly, much to her immediate chagrin.

"This a man can see," he said quietly and then continued before Arya could speak the question on her lips, "Come."

He tugged on her hand, leading her in the direction she knew would eventually bring her to the House. She pulled her hand from his and crossed her arms over her chest. It was immature, she knew, but she felt that she had to punish him for staying away so long.

"Please?" He said, almost begging, as he took her hand again.

Arya followed him in defeated silence, allowing him to lead her through the throngs of people. She didn't like the fact that he was guiding her, she wanted to prove that she could find her own way, but it was late, and she had to admit that she would move much quicker if she allowed him to guide her.

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Jaqen lead her through the throngs of people crowding the busy Braavos streets. It was overwhelming for Arya. She had not moved so quickly though a crowd since she lost her sight, and she found herself brushing by bodies before she had a chance to learn anything about them. With all of her senses being assaulted too quickly for her to process she felt truly blind, so she just gripped Jaqen's hand tightly and trusted him to lead her. Eventually, she felt the ground begin to slope upward and she recognized the scent of the gardens below the House. She was comforted by her ability to identify the familiar pattern of stones forming the steps they climbed to reach the great doors that led into the hall with the fountain. Jaqen opened the doors and Arya followed him inside.

"I can manage now," she said coldly, pulling her hand from her grasp.

He was silent, and Arya wished she could see this expression. In a sudden burst of inspiration she reached her hands in his direction until he wrapped his hands over hers and guided them to his face. He stood very still as Arya traced her fingers over the familiar planes of his high cheekbones, smooth forehead, and long straight nose. She could feel the muscles at the corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown, but as her hands ghosted over them, they lifted into an arrogant smirk that Arya knew from memory.

"You're wearing your face!" She said excitedly. She knew it wasn't his face, but it made her happy that he wore the face she remembered, even if she couldn't see it.

"A man's face is not his own," he sighed, "But he hoped that the lovely girl would remember it."

"It's your face to me," Arya said happily, and then she remembered that she was angry with him. "Where were you?!" She said angrily, shoving her hands into his chest. She must have caught him by surprise because she heard him stumble backward.

"A man is a servant to the Red God," he said simply, as if it were an adequate explanation. "_Valar Dohaeris_, yes?"

"But I came to find you!" Arya said, her voice rising above an acceptable level for the tranquil hall. She began again, quieter this time, "I've been here for over a year, and I searched for you every day. Why didn't you come?" She felt traitorous tears pricking at her useless eyes. She would not let him see her cry. She wanted him to know that she was stronger than that.

"Please don't cry, lovely girl," he pleaded. He came close enough for Arya to smell the foreign spice on his breath as he wiped the moisture away with warm, rough thumbs. "A man did not expect you to come. He hoped, but did not expect."

"Well I came," Arya pulled her face from his hands, turning her head to the side. "And you weren't here."

"Lovely girl," he began, but Arya interrupted him.

"I'm not a girl anymore! In case you hadn't noticed, I grew up while you were off doing God knows what," she was already angry enough that her tears had given her away. He could not think her a weak child, it was just too much.

"Just so," he said and Arya imagined that smirk spreading across his fine features again. "But lovely nonetheless."

Arya said nothing, refusing to turn in his direction.

"A man must inform others of his return, but may he visit the lovely woman when he is finished?" He asked, mocking her desire to not be referred to as a child.

"I must bathe," she said, trying to put him off. When he did not offer to leave her be, she continued, "But I suppose you may visit me. I'll be in my room. I trust you can find it on your own?"

"A man will always find you," he said as he turned from her. She listened to him walk away with long strides and inhaled the peculiar scent that hung in the air behind him.

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**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, except the plot. **

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Arya wrung her wet and mostly clean hair out, letting the water splatter on the floor of her room. It was small, just whitewashed walls with a few hooks for clothing, a small window, and a little hearth, although it was rarely cold enough to require a fire. The only furniture was a feather mattress on the floor against one wall, which was a tangled nest of blankets that she never bothered to fix, and a wooden chair in the corner. Arya had no possessions; she was supposed to be No One, and No One had nothing. But Needle was hidden beneath her bed, and the reminder of its presence gave Arya comfort.

Arya ran her hands through the clothing hanging on the hooks until she identified her cleaner breeches by the feel of the soft cotton. She pulled them up her thin legs and rolled them twice below her knees. She found a tunic which she sniffed carefully because she could not recall the last time it had been cleaned. _Good enough_, she thought and pulled it over her head. Arya began combing her fingers through her hair, trying and failing to tease through the knots. It was longer, the soft waves just dusting her shoulders, but with that came impossible tangles. She wasn't sure if it was worth the trade.

She was interrupted by three knocks upon her door. They were softer and more deliberate than the knocks of her fellow acolytes - the only other people who ever came to her room. Arya turned toward the door, but she heard it open and felt the rush of fresh air before she could reach it.

"The lovely girl lives simply," Jaqen noted.

Arya could only imagine him appraising her meager living quarters. She didn't need to imagine his smirk. She knew what it looked like and she heard it in his voice when he continued to call her _girl_, despite, or perhaps because of, how much it annoyed her.

"The lovely girl thinks a man should learn to hold his tongue," Arya said bitingly.

She knew it wasn't really fair, but she was still bitter over him going through all the trouble to provide her passage to Braavos and then not being there when she arrived. The abandonment stung more than she wanted to admit, and she couldn't stop the venom from seeping into her words.

"A man apologizes," he said quite sincerely, Arya had to acknowledge. "For many things, a man is sorry."

Arya suddenly felt very guilty for treating him with such hostility. It wasn't _really_ his fault that he hadn't been there. He was here now, after all. And he had come to find her in the streets before even coming to the House. And he wore the face that she remembered, even though there was no reason for him to do so.

"I'm sorry too," Arya sighed, her unseeing eyes drifting downward meekly. "I just missed you, is all."

"A man missed the lovely girl, as well," Jaqen replied, "And he has many adventures to share with a girl, if it would please her to listen."

Arya was suddenly very curious. While she had spent over a year training in Braavos, only leaving the House to beg down in the streets or sell shellfish at the docks, Jaqen had been off having the kinds of adventures she had only dreamed about. Or so she assumed.

"I suppose it would please me," Arya said lightly, trying to hide her excitement.

"Then a man will share. But first," Arya felt his hand come beneath her chin, and her breath caught in her throat. "A girl has missed a spot," he said with a little chuckle and tipped her head back to expose her neck.

She felt him use a smooth, airy fabric - his tunic perhaps - to wipe a smudge of dirt from her throat that she had apparently neglected to remove. She was slightly embarrassed, but she didn't think much of it because her mind was more occupied with the sensation of his breath very close and his fingers trailing up the delicate skin. It was rather disorienting to feel him so close and have him touching her but not be able to see him. It made her acutely aware to his spicy scent and the warmth his body radiated, even from several inches away. She was interrupted from her reverie when Jaqen lifter the ends of her tangled hair, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. Arya snatched the strands from his fingers, suddenly embarrassed.

"If a girl would sit," he began, directing her towards the bed and pushing her down onto the soft blankets, "A man will help her with this mess that she calls hair."

He laughed then, and it was a pleasant sound. His deep, genuine laughter echoed softly off the walls and Arya liked the way it surrounded her. She had not laughed nearly enough for quite sometime. He sat down behind her on the bed and began working through the snarls. Arya had to admit that she was thankful for the help. Blindness did have its disadvantages, grooming difficulties being one of them.

"I thought you had adventures to share with me?" Arya said brightly, remembering his offer.

"A man has collected many stories," he said vaguely.

"But - " Arya protested, expecting him to decline to share with her.

"And if the lovely girl would hold _her_ tongue," he interrupter her, his smile evident just through the tone of his voice, "A man will share them with her."

Arya opened her mouth to retort, but closed it again. Jaqen noticed the movement and chuckled lightly under his breath.

"Have you heard much of the city of Volantis?" He began and went on to tell story after story of his time serving in his recent duties to The Red God. As he combed through the snarls in Arya's thick hair, she listened with rapt attention to the colorful portraits he painted of the Free Cities which she had yet to visit. When he finished with her hair she turned around and they sat, cross-legged and facing each other, as they continued to trade stories until the sun hung low in the sky and the small window cast the red-orange glow of sunset upon the white walls, causing the whole room to glow brightly.

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"A girl has learned much since she and a man last met!" Jaqen called as Arya dodged out of the way of a well-aimed strike.

Jaqen had been at the House for several weeks since his return, and he and Arya had taken to practicing water dancing and defense skills in one of the many courtyards in the afternoons. She was still blinded, but it was not so hard to fight without her sight, she had discovered. Her other senses were more than up to the task. Today he was pushing her exceptionally hard, and she was panting from the effort it took to keep up.

"You were gone quite some time," Arya said breathlessly, hands on her knees. "I should certainly hope that I've picked up a few things since then!"

They began circling each other, blades drawn, leaning on the tips of their toes. Arya listened closely for him to shift his weight and indicate his next move. This was not the clumsy fighting of knights in the Seven Kingdoms. They were not relying on strength and heavy blades to best their opponent. Arya and Jaqen danced about the hall as they spun about each other, dodging and landing small controlled cuts. Arya ducked a wide sweep of Jaqen's blade, but as she made to rise, he grabbed her wrist, spinning her around until they came face to face. She felt the cold bite of steel as Jaqen placed his blade lengthwise against her throat. They were both breathing heavily and Arya was close enough feel the heat from his skin.

"But now a girl is dead," Jaqen said mockingly, his arrogant smile coming through in the tone of his voice.

"She's not the only one," Arya whispered, and she lightly pressed the tip of the dagger she kept in her belt against his stomach.

Arya heard his sharp intake of breath as he felt the steel cut through his tunic and prick the skin underneath. She wished she could see the look of surprise on his face.

"The lovely girl has tricks," Jaqen said breathlessly.

"Not a girl," Arya whispered into his ear, nicking his skin just enough to draw a drop of blood before walking away.

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**Please review! Your comments = my inspiration. **


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry, this one's a little bit shorter, and maybe a bit fluffy. Whatever. I was in the mood for it. **

**FaeBreeze: I do have a general plan for this story, and I'll probably split it into two or three parts of moderate length. I won't give away the plot, but I promise this will pick up and get loads more interesting soon!**

**As usual, I own nothing. Except the plot.**

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"What story would the lovely girl like to hear tonight?" Jaqen asked, walking to Arya where she sat on the bed.

As the nights grew colder, they had begun a new tradition. In the evening, Jaqen would come to Arya's room and start a fire for her in the little hearth. Then, they would sit on the bed, Jaqen watching the flames and Arya enjoying their heat on her face, and Arya would get a story. It became Arya's favorite part of the day. Jaqen recounted his experiences with such rich detail that she felt she had been there herself. While he declined to tell her of his life before coming to The House of Black and White, he seemed to have an endless supply of stories he had collected in his service to the Red God. To anyone else, it would have been morbid to hear the tales of so many deaths, but to Arya, it was an art form.

"How did you end up in the black cells, all those years ago?" Arya asked quietly. She had always wondered, but had never had the courage to question him about it.

Jaqen's body tensed and he sucked in a breath.

"That is a story for another time, lovely girl," he recovered quickly, "Is there another?"

Arya's curiosity was piqued, but there was nothing to be done for it. "I want to hear your favorite," she asked instead.

Jaqen laughed and placed one arm around Arya's shoulders, "But that is a story a girl already knows."

Arya tried to remember all of the stories he had told her, but she was sure this was one that she did not know yet.

Jaqen must have seen her look of confusion because he continued, "Doesn't a girl remember a man called Chiswyck?"

Arya struggled for a moment, the identity of the man who Jaqen had named just on the fringes of her memory. Then, in a flash of recognition she gasped.

"That was the first man I asked you to kill!" She laughed then, "But why was he your favorite? All you did was push him off a wall!"

"It is a man's favorite," Jaqen began, pulling Arya closer into his side, "Because it was to please a lovely girl."

Arya smiled. True, it was an odd way of expressing how much he cared, but it meant the world to her. She was the only one who would see the meaning in his admission. At this point, she could hardly imagine how she could have ever been so furious with him for staying away so long. With him there, she was happier than she had been since before her father died. A smile spread it's way across her face and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"It is getting late," Jaqen said, shifting his head to look down at her. "A girl must be tired."

At his suggestion, Arya yawned deeply, but denied it nonetheless, "I'm not tired."

"A girl's yawns betray her."

"I still didn't get a story," Arya said, avoiding his comment. "You can't leave until you tell me one."

"A girl is very demanding," he scolded, trying to cover his soft laughter. "But a man cannot refuse."

Arya heard a small thud; Jaqen leaned his head back against the wall. A few moments of contemplation later, he spoke.

"Once, when a man was only an acolyte like yourself..." he began, and Arya drifted off to sleep to the low tones of his smooth voice.

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_The blood dribbled down her muzzle as she tore into the deer's flank. She was hungry. Prey was scarce as the days grew colder. Her packmates waited for her to have her fill before descending on the carcass in a chorus of snaps and snarls. _

Arya woke with a start. She was drenched in sweat; her thin tunic was sticking to her skin.

"A girl has troubled dreams," whispered a voice beside her, startling Arya and making her jump

"Jaqen?" She questioned even though there was no mistaking the owner of the voice. "What are you still doing here?" The last thing she remembered was Jaqen's story lulling her to sleep with the help of the warmth from the fire. The fire had gone out, apparently; it was cold in the room and she couldn't hear the crackling of the flames. _It must be very late. _

"It's not as if a man could leave," he chuckled then, "the lovely girl has prevented it."

It was then that Arya realized the lump behind her must be Jaqen's arm, still wrapped around her, only now it was pinned between her back and the wall. _That couldn't be very comfortable. _

"Oh...I uh...sorry," Arya spluttered, leaning forward so he could remove his arm. She was embarrassed that she had apparently trapped him there for hours. _But he could have just left. It probably wouldn't have woken me. _

"A girl should not worry," he pushed a sweaty strand of hair off of her face, "A man does not mind."

Arya was skeptical, but he sounded sincere. This pleased her, although she was loathe to admit it. It had been rather nice falling asleep with his arms around her... but she stopped that train of thought as soon as it began. It was just a waste of her mental energy. There was no use traveling down a path that lead to nothing. Although she wouldn't mind repeating the experience, she had to concede.

"Well I guess you should go now," she mumbled, showing more of her reluctance than she had intended; another embarrassment.

"If that is a girl's wish," he rose from the bed beside her and she stood with him.

"Goodnight, Jaqen," She said softly. She wasn't really sure what to do in this situation. Granted, it had become a tradition for him to come to her room before she went to bed, and they would trade stories, although he had many more to tell than her. But he usually left _before_ she had fallen asleep and trapped him there with her only to release him hours later.

"Goodnight, lovely girl," he said, his voice deep and strained with an emotion she could not identify. And then he tipped her head up with one finger under her chin and kissed her on the forehead. Arya sucked in sharp breath as if his touch had burned her. She stood stock still as he turned away from her and opened the door to leave, and she thought she heard him laugh under his breath before he closed it behind him.

Arya stumbled backwards to her bed and flopped down on the mess of blankets. The spot on her forehead where his lips had touched her skin was tingling, and she reached up to touch it tentatively. She shook her head and told herself to stop being so ridiculous; she had never been one for swooning and she wasn't going to start now. However, as she nuzzled down into the nest of blankets and pillows she couldn't help but notice that her bed, and perhaps the entire room, smelled strongly of the unknown foreign spice that followed him everywhere.

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**Please review! Anything you say fuels me. **


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